The A List
Dancing elastic eel.
Candyfloss diamond.
Eight minutes and twenty-nine seconds
Stale by the chant of a clock spring
Fourteen metric ounces of blood.
Fresh and spicy
From a Swedish apeasiotomy.
A poster depicting war.
Two men sharing a bath.
Rose petals float
Thrown from the third floor
Of a 1950s beach front
Apartment.
Pink foaming dodo.
Crisp brittle mosquito wings
Gilded with a blushing vinyl rainbow.
As sharp
As the compulsion to lie.
Felt faux pas.
The will to live
The will to die.
To Sleep
I perfumed his sleep
with a longing,
a deep resenting longing,
the longing we strive to saunder,
and he cried in the cradle,
buried in sleep.
Metallic sugar vigour
floating as a muse to a nightmare,
a beating living quarry
blind and starless.
Sleep my invader;
deep and hidden
unless we close our eyes.
Spleen Pique
Yes, I am bitter.
Oh, I am very, very, very bitter.
I hold onto all erstwhile
With ill concealed relish
And I've never learnt
From one solitary mistake;
The past, the future
Installed within me
Still circles, curdled, sick
With derisive horror.
Yes, I am twisted.
Oh, I am very, very, very twisted.
My sex breeds on the affirmation
That perversion is such
An uncostly commodity.
And still,
I have never been burned
By one single aversion.
Check.
Peroxide
Kidnapped
Sexual buzz box
Council fences.
You
Me
Sucking
Saplings.
A bathroom
Sunny
Lit up
Two adolescents
Without a minute's
Experience.
Later
Unaccounted,
As the years
Become
As slack as
Dead muscle,
We'll grow as
Familiars
And reminisce
Of before.
Resurrected Marshall
Blond haired sexed suckle
Muscle stock,
Playing post mortem
Whilst lubed to dock
In a deep digital underworld.
The placard
The coffin
The wet soil moist underfoot
Purest blackest shadow project.
Posthumous cadaver
Exhumed to rot.
Doubled over
Bushy dark leafed shrieking blow pipes
Listen
To the fresh seeds' banter
Their necromantic
Peacock suite theatre.
Fleshy futile feature,
We have resurrected you;
Now reclaim the dead.
Near Dark
Creeping crepuscular ocean,
Dark unremitting noxious invader.
Blanketed ebony vast fur ball,
Claustrophobic
Cocooning,
The night, stinging
Sober and staid
As boiling tar.
The only prosperous certainty,
Is its beaded depth.
I, Xenophile
Non nobis Solum
Phobia of needles
And rivalry,
Pummled corn god
Purple, yellow and orange
My lattice grandmother, alone in sheets.
Staut caucasian
Man of the golden wheel,
His molten heart beats.
Leave them all in dispute
To fight in the open
And dream
In the wake of pacifism.
Therefore, a beautiful child
Materialised
And the rustic gale blew
From the masts of ships,
Nebulous in fog.
Now play with time,
For he will always be yours.
Missing
Heart strings,
Abort the aorta
To pull you close,
The power to move in
Ink pitch darkness
With a charlatan's will
To prove,
That these whispers
These phantoms,
That these shades
And apparitions
Are indeed the dead,
Little children of experience
Gone far, far ahead
Waltzing and skipping
To their own bloody sorrows.
The departed,
The alone.
Untitled
New York/Seattle
Attic bar, strip light
Cocaine imbalance
Alcohol retention
Did I/was I ?
Dead Beat
To play with fire
To juggle with ghosts,
Invites the earthbound
As indelible hosts.
Like attracts like
And sin magnets sin.
The density of existence
Invited them in.
Untitled
Shit round his lips
dirty circumference,
elastic
gripped plastic
squeaking his teeth.
Backbones
broken softly
tweaking slightly
stuffed.
Hover,
the goods fall home
sweetly on wet or
moist stomach pads.
Slick eater
premature
sure shot
gun slot,
waste wearer
pig raiser.
Mother
Rita, on a beach - '67.
California
Behind her:
Golgotha inside her.
Their daughter smiles
As
Uncertain as the
Ocean waves.
Far in the left
Of the ageing
Photograph
Stands her stepfather:
Civil servant
Ex preacher
Sexually abusive
Narcotic addicted
Infantile mephisto.
Fern
I guess I feel
Kind of guilty
For choking these
Flowers.
And yes,
What pretty
tattoos.
In A Lonely Place (The Beach)
An emblematic nuclear desertion hangs invisible,
Metaphoric on this empty desolate beach, for winter
Has vaccinated the sands' density against the soft
Yet dangerous pad of human clutter. The clinging
Sun purrs, punched like an indistinct empty socket,
Bleached and cool, a phosphorescent hazy snowball.
This beach is alive, reverberate and vigorous with
Intangible spirits, ghosts and echoes, cold slants
Caught in time, brief cinematic spiritual reels of
Film that will dance at your will through crisp
Golden flapping lapses of time. Tap the nostalgic
Coils to raise them from their historic sleep, then
They will perform independently again and again for
The clairvoyant spectator. Randomly; a quarter of a
Mile in the hazy cold distance, between old
Redundant decaying piers and sodden dark beach
Rigging, the skeletal backbone of a pre war big
Dipper distorts and disarranges itself through the
Fine lively microscopic particles of fresh spray
Tossed triumphantly high by the sea's thunderous
Muscle, only to retreat in a watery landslide back
To its origin, leaving behind nothing but moist
Salty residue, soon to solidify and catch the sun
As crystal and nostalgia. The big dipper does not
Move, its insectlike runners rusted, disabled in
Iron and water. Discarded, useless and broken
Like a muse to the sea and a wife to the water.
A ghost girl grins in a carriage, then slips away.
Durst Burst
A dark furry eye
Of the fleshy offender
A smile to the smell
Of the squandered defender
Aerobic stance
Bare squattle then rest
Push retraction, push extraction
Deliver home steaming your best
Al fresco al forno
Served tail up, lush head first
On inspection the dissection
Of this dining perfection
Quenches my shame
And my thirst
Eat
Eat
Ice
The skating rink in the season of winter
Is desolate, its sheer absence of life
In the ice injects the vast hollow chasm
With an even higher sense of alienation
That reverberates continuously between the
Vast high textured metal white ceiling and
The huge expanse of frozen water that is
Cold whatever the weather.
Between the attendant and I, we are
Alone, almost ghostlike, floating ethereal
Through the indistinct cones of my breath
Pumping out intermittently from my lips. As I
Skate in aimless vast chiselled circles, my
Thoughtforms begin to wander; I have a cake
In my satchel in the empty locker room
But I am not particularly hungry at the moment.
The movie house on East Broadway Upper West
Is showing a new movie but I doubt it will
Be popular. Ruth told me about a scene
Where a crazed lunatic stabs at a rabbit's
Bloody skinned body until it becomes an
Unrecognisable blur of a carnage. As I glide
Past the dry smoke wheels, which I guess are
Running solely for my benefit, I am reminded of
The scent of fresias. I think of the cinema house again
I might go there, it’s full of crack heads
And queers, I dunno, I might just skate for a while
Round and
Around.
I take the best choice;
The movie house.
Legendary.
The Bad Apple
New York, blind ‘76
Models spread for sheer pleasure
Double bubble, color brother
Step on the side walk, slacker.
Soft and blurred neon incandescence
Fetid human spunk string essence
Resounding tunnels
Mass empty hollows
Speeding with tubes
Teeming she bellows
Cold smoke, blood and cancer.
Twilight razor gliding suicides
A junkie's desperate affection
Drive in the needle, halfway house
Lemon; skin; lesion; infection
Fuck the filthy city
And we scored.
A dime lays snug, rusty and decomposing
A white stiletto kicked in the drain
Trailer park
After dark
Watching
Waiting
Feeling
The art of murder
And to smother.
Dual Sexus
Hypodermic cross gender
The razor is the jury,
Guilty
This human
Must act as a man
In the name of the father
And the holy pharisee,
Evoke strength
Provoke sinew and muscle
Not to encave
Wear the flowers
Sequestered,
Now breed and be happy.
e-mail: vaughan_watson@yahoo.co.uk
visit: Crow City Books